


between your lips and fading lights

by thecoloursneverfade



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Artist!Harry, F/F, Harry watches 80's movies and listens to indie music, Louis wears Harry's clothes, M/M, also lots of eye colour love, and feed the ducks bc its cute, lots of artist talk, they drink a lot of coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6642508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecoloursneverfade/pseuds/thecoloursneverfade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Louis doesn't know art and Harry is definitely not a hipster. Misunderstandings ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	between your lips and fading lights

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>    
> So I visited a gallery not long ago and it was basically exactly what I described in this fic (artwork included) and of course all I could think of was how much I wanted to write about it. 
> 
> Thanks [Tori](https://andthecollisionofyourkiss.tumblr.com) for betaing this for me!
> 
> title is from The Knife by Hedley <3 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](https://thecoloursneverfade.tumblr.com)

Louis has never seen so many oversized sweaters and ironic bucket hats in one room.

He’s inadvertently dressed for the occasion in his old tattered and worn denim jacket, and he’s definitely not endeared by paintings he doesn’t even understand.

Definitely not.

He’s decided this is the weirdest fucking exhibition he’s let Zayn drag him to. The entrance was through some completely plain looking door coming off of the side of the street, and inside, up several flights of stairs, is clearly a gallery – though there are no signs up anywhere (literally, _anywhere_ ) to further indicate that it is. He guesses it’s an ‘ _in the know’_ kind of place – and Louis knows Zayn. Though sometimes he questions whether or not that’s a good thing.

Louis was pretty much on board at the start, he milled around with Zayn partly admiring the canvases on the walls, partly confused as fuck. Like, he knows they’re abstract, and he doesn’t _need_ to try and find some sort of imagery in them. But when Zayn is admiring something about them and using words like “transcendence” and “inelegant composition” (which, eyeroll), he may as well have been speaking another language.

Louis managed to drift off from where Zayn was standing talking to his buddies from art school who think the stroke of a brush means more than it really does. He hung around a stairwell for a few long moments before finally going down it and he’s greeted with concrete flooring and long hallways, another room with an open door – and the door is like, post-apocalyptic worthy, heavy steel with deep worn marks and a small window at the top, the glass a few inches thick.

He goes into the room, and is almost blinded by the stark white walls, all completely empty except for one. The one that Louis is standing directly in front of.

It’s lined with five canvases, they’re a lot smaller than the ones upstairs, but Louis feels strangely drawn to them, and he doesn’t know what that says about him because these honestly just appear to be paint smeared onto canvas just with different applications of colour and densities but he’s trying hard not to read into them too much, just wants to enjoy the art for once.

And then a little black pug runs at his feet.

“Oh!” he says in surprise, smiling down at the dog rubbing against his legs. “Hello there.”

“ _Milo_ , Jesus.” He hears someone say and a boy with messy brown hair and too many bracelets rushes in. “Sorry, are you good with dogs?”

He meets Louis’ eyes and wow–

They’re, like, _green_.

Like, so many shades of green that Louis’ poor, uncultured brain can’t even comprehend. It’s like lush green grass in a field in the middle of spring, the colour of leaves when you look up underneath a tree towards the sky, the mossy and murky swirls in streams flowing through forests. This boy is ridiculously beautiful and Louis already knows he doesn’t stand a chance.

He chokes out a cough and nods. “I um…Yeah. I’m great with dogs.”

The boy smiles bashfully. “He gets a bit excited when I have a show on,”

Wait. “Wait.” Louis blinks. “This is your– you’re the artist?”

The boy smirks, suddenly looking dangerous and all kinds of hot that Louis was decidedly not prepared for. “Harry Styles, hi. I saw you standing with Zayn earlier, you’re one of his friends from art school?”

Louis swallows through his dry throat, and manages a chuckle. “I’m his flatmate, not an artist,” _at all,_ “Louis.”

A bright smile stretches across Harrys too pink lips. “Well _Louis,_ this is Milo. My wonderful assistant and toughest critic,” he says, bending down to pick the adorable dog up in his arms.

Louis chuckles, stepping in to pet him and a little tongue pokes out and licks across Louis’ hand.

“Is that so?” he says, rubbing the scruff of his neck.

Milo gets squirmy after that so Harry lets him go and he scurries back up the metal stairwell.

“Like what you see?” Harry asks, he’s looking at the paintings, and Louis is looking at him. So yes, he does very much like what he see’s. He’s admiring the way the terribly stark lighting somehow accentuates Harry’s bone structure perfectly and makes his lean legs in those black skinny jeans look so unbelievably good. Louis almost wants to joke about him being the art instead, before snapping out of it. Christ.

Louis tears his eyes away from Harry, painful as it is. “Yeah,” he studies the canvases in front of him, ignoring the heat pooling in his gut. “Yeah, they’re really beautiful.”

Harry smiles proudly. “Thank you, they’re actually my favourites in the show.”

Louis purses his lips contemplatively. “So why are you showing them down here then?”

The small quirk in Harry’s mouth leaves him entranced. “I think this room is actually quite fitting with the idea of… isolation.” He smirks. “And I’ve had the issue of some of my friends bringing their kids to my exhibitions so I’ve decided to keep some of the more explicit stuff out of the way,”

Louis frowns in confusion because he’s not entirely sure what he means by explicit… but he decides not to question it lest he appear just as uneducated in the art world as he honestly is.

“What inspired these?” he asks instead.

The corner of Harrys mouth twists into a smirk. “I like to paint beautiful people,” he says simple enough, but deep and slow in that stupidly sexy voice of his. He turns to Louis again, eyes scanning over him, relentless to look away, almost predatory-like yet calming all the same.

And everything is blissfully silent, Louis wonders if his pounding pulse is visible beneath his jawline. Feels like it would be.

“I’m actually looking for a new model… if you’re interested?” Harry asks after a moment.

Louis feels his cheeks heat up in a rush. “ _Me_?” he croaks in disbelief.

“You.” Harry says easily.

_I like to paint beautiful people._

Louis floods with– _something,_ he doesn’t even know. He’s– fuck, he’s opening his mouth to speak, hoping to god that something actually comes out.

“Yeah, okay.” He breathes. And Harry lights up like a million stars.

He seems to sigh with–relief? Maybe? His smile widening further and Louis feels warm. “That’s–that’s cool. Lovely, um. I should probably be heading back up there, it is my exhibition after all,” he chuckles, “I’ll text Zayn for your number.”

Louis nods, feeling slightly dazed. “Yeah.”

“Great. That’s–um, that’s great.” Harry says, seeming flustered almost. “Well, I’ll see you later, Louis.”

Louis nods again. “Yeah, see you.”

And with one last small smile, Harry disappears back up the stairs.

And Louis kind of misses him.

He immediately feels absurd for thinking that about someone he just met, and squashes that thought as quickly as it came.

“There you are,” a familiar voice says, nearing him.

Louis looks at Zayn approaching him. “Oh, hi,”

Zayn stands by his side, he looks all confident and perfect and Louis is just a tiny bit envious. “Isn’t the raw beauty of these works so invigorating,” Zayn utters, starring at the paintings. “It throws the reality of sexuality and the human body in your face. So passionate,”

Louis frowns further, he’s more annoyed now than anything because he really wants to understand, he thinks he probably _should_ understand before he lets Harry fucking paint him. “Can you explain?” he asks after a few excruciating seconds.

“Do you not see it?”

He bites down on his bottom lip, even squinting a little as he looks at the paintings. “I see… a lot of paint,”

“Babe, here,” Zayn puts a hand on Louis’ shoulder and they step in closer, he lifts his other hand and lets it follow paint strokes on one of the canvases, drawing into the air. And then Louis sees it. Not just on that one painting, he sees it in all five of them. He even thinks of some of the ones upstairs that had similar subject matter.

“Oh,” he murmurs quietly.

They’re all paintings of naked men. But they aren’t full body paintings, they’re like mid-sex poses, like action shots almost and from _very_ point of view angles. Louis is perhaps even more enticed than before, the style Harry paints in introduces a sort of energy to them, a feeling of movement almost, and he can’t stop starring.

But then, shit, he feels his insides freeze. Because he remembers that he just agreed to be Harrys model. And clearly Harry didn’t mean that in a conventional way. “Oh _… Oh no.”_

“You alright?” Zayn asks. “I know it’s a bit evocative at first but they’re so powerful–“

“No that’s not it, I love them, I just– I might have agreed to something without knowing what it was and now I… oh boy.” Louis flushes all over.

Zayn lets out a weighted sigh. “Oh god, who did you offend?”

“Fuck–no one! I have been very well-behaved.” He tries to sound offended but he’s honestly too agonized to do a good job of it. “I’d rather not talk about it _here_ ,” he says in a whisper.

Zayn, still appearing confused, simply nods like he understands and they head back upstairs.

He catches a glimpse of Harry when they get to the ground level, his back turned and in the middle of a conversation, his hair is falling onto his shoulders in waves.

As Louis steps out the door bracing the cold, he thinks maybe he likes art a bit more now, despite the sudden nerves spreading all over his body. He wonders if he found that in a pair of skinny jeans, messy hair and a terribly pretty face.

 

*

 

Zayn didn’t stop laughing for a whole hour when Louis explained the situation to him.

Like. Really. He wouldn’t shut up. And then he told Liam, and Louis sat there with a cold glare while they got it out of their systems. When the laughter subsided, Zayn tried to be considerate but it ended up coming out as patronizing and that just annoyed Louis further.

He just got in the car, and drove. He has work soon anyway.

He parks by the waterfront for half an hour, and Zayn calls him.

“ _Lou, babe, we’re sorry for laughing_ ,”

Louis gives a vague noncommittal hum in response.

“ _Truly, truly sorry. Can I just ask what the problem is though? You said you thought Harry was fit. He clearly thinks the same of you if he wants to paint you so like…”_

Louis sighs. “Yeah I know. I’m not complaining _per say_ , just that I wasn’t prepared for… for those paintings to be what they were,”

“ _…I’m sorry, I just cant get over how cute that is_ ,” and he hears snickering again.

“Oh fuck off, Zayn,” he ends the call.

He’s not really mad at Zayn, and he knows Zayn knows that. He’s mad at himself for not knowing what this incredibly _hot_ artist was asking of him, not saying he would have turned him down otherwise. He isn’t sure what he would have said, but he just would have liked to have _known._

Work is nice. Seems to take his mind off of everything. Being a bartender can be quite the stress reliever he’s realized, especially when he can listen to people complain about their own problems all night and realize he’s really fine in comparison. And also because he works with Niall Horan, Niall, who can really brighten anyones day without even trying.

It actually ended up being a quiet night towards the end of his shift, he and Niall played a game of throwing peanuts into each others mouths and Niall demonstrated his best celebrity impersonations when they’re closing up. Louis nearly fell over with laughter.

Louis passes out as soon as he gets home, he dreams in green.

 

*

 

Louis hates his flat.

Or maybe it’s his flatmates. Either way, living somewhere with paper-thin walls and flatmates who are in the mood at six o’clock in the morning makes for a very unhappy Louis.

“ _Yeah,_ Zayn– fuck.”

Louis clasps a pillow around his head, trying to block out the sounds coming from the room directly next to his. He’s staring fixedly at his ceiling, gritting his teeth, wondering if he focuses hard enough that maybe he’ll pass out long enough for them to be finished _._

The sound of the headboard hitting the wall repeatedly actually physically shakes Louis’ bed on the other side and he groans heavily, wanting them to hear him since he can very easily hear them.

“ _Fucking hell,”_ he moans, almost in sync with Zayn on the other side.

The headboard is still banging against the wall when Louis jumps out of bed, annoyed as fuck, and throws on the same black skinnies on the floor from yesterday and a sweater, barely ties up his shoes before he storms out the door, slamming it behind him.

He can’t believe he was just forced out of his own fucking flat.

He gets into his car and drives, letting the cool air flowing through the open window ease his mind slightly.

They have a flat in a considerably nicer area than Louis could have honestly hoped for considering the amount they pay in rent, which is probably a lot less than their neighbours (families with kids who are all _casserole this_ and _polo shirts that_ , elderly folk which Louis doesn’t mind so much because that means that Zayn, Liam and him are the ‘ _nice boys in the neighbourhood who deserve the baking leftovers that their grandkids didn’t want’_ which is always a bonus when student loans and the cost of living is slowly eating away at Louis’ wallet, and consequently, his will to live).

He and Zayn got the flat years ago because it was the only place close enough to the University that they could afford, Liam moved in not long after he and Zayn started dating and they never felt any obligation to move out after Uni, it’s close to Liam’s job, has a lot of space for Zayn to work and it’s close to the bar where Louis pretends he didn’t waste three years in an English degree.

The flat itself could do with a tidy up that’s for sure, though Liam has kind of taken on that role, Louis remembers the exact words when he saw Louis’ room for the first time when he moved in, “ _Jesus fuck did something die in here? Zayn hand me the rubber gloves,_ ” and he’s tried his best to keep it in top shape ever since, though Louis doesn’t really know why. Their families always call before they visit and other than that its just Niall who comes over, drinks all their booze and then falls asleep on the couch.

Anyway, he doesn’t think their cordial neighbours would be all too pleased if they knew what Louis just endured this morning. He doesn’t really know where he’s driving to, but he stops at a Starbucks and has to dig for loose change in the glove box because he left his wallet at home to be victimized by the sounds of his best friends making each other orgasm. Which is just a fucking _lovely_ visual.

He finds a voucher for a free Cappuccino instead. He’s not the biggest coffee guy, but it’ll do, so he shoves it in his pocket and gets out of the car.

Its early march, and Louis wishes he had grabbed something thicker than the sweater he currently has on, the wind is going straight through it and all he can really do is shiver until he steps into the warm Starbucks, hands in the voucher, gets his drink a few minutes later and then takes a seat on one of the stools looking out the window.

Everything is quiet this time of morning, the odd person jogging down the street or walking their dog, only a couple people sitting in Starbucks at some of the tables scattered about, and then theres Louis, reveling in the hot liquid coursing through his body and warming him up with each sip.

“Aren’t you cold?” someone says from behind him, and Louis jumps at the voice, turning to see Harry Styles standing there, a soft smile resting on his face and a to-go cup between his fingers.

Louis blinks through the harsh light of the sunrise pouring through the windows, casting wonderful shadows across Harrys face.

He’s decidedly not prepared for this. Harrys hair is all windswept and he’s bundled up in a trench coat and scarf. He is unfairly gorgeous. Louis is going to hold a grudge against the universe forever for letting this curly statuesque being walk into his life with his stupid tight jeans and his stupid sexual paintings. Louis is unforgiving.

“Hi,” Harry says softly, scanning Louis’ face, “sorry, did I scare you?” obviously directed at the fact that Louis has fallen dead silent.

Louis is quickly pulled back to reality. “No, not at all, hi,”

Harry brightens and he slides into the stool next to Louis. Louis’ heart races.

“Aren’t you cold? Its like, freezing,” Harry says again, watching the world outside.

Louis shrugs, though he is. “Forgot to grab a jacket,”

Harry takes a long sip of his drink. “I sent you a text last night,” he says after a moment.

“Oh. I didn’t check my phone after work, and this morning I was kind of forced out of my flat,” Louis explains.

Harry gives him a questioning look so Louis continues, “Zayn and Liam get a bit frisky in the mornings it would seem,”

Harry snorts, his dimples making an appearance. “Christ, I am so sorry. Can’t imagine living with them, they were loved up enough as it was when I knew Zayn in art school,”

Louis finds this to be a good enough time as any to enquire about Harrys life. “So you went to art school with Zayn?”

Harry nods. “Only for a year, the system was a bit–“ he wobbles his hand vaguely, “like, lacking in creative freedom, I found. Had some savings so I started up that gallery with my mate Nick, the first few shows were shit – like, two people showed up, but things are going pretty well now,” he says with a smile.

Louis nods along thoughtfully, his chest compressing when he remembers agreeing to let Harry paint him, and remembers what it is that Harry paints. He wonders when he’ll bring it up.

“What about you?” Harry asks, snapping Louis out of his anxious daze.

Louis coughs into his hand. “I’m a bartender,” and he leaves it at that, plain and simple.

“That’s sick, I’ve heard you guys get told the best stories,” Harry says, seeming thoroughly interested.

“Yeah, like _my wife never listens to me_ and _I think I hit my landlord with my car but I drove off before the cops came and now I’m going to drink myself under the table_ ,” he laughs.

Harry snorts a laugh. “Shit, sounds fascinating,” he actually sounds genuine as well.

Louis smiles. “Could say that,”

Harry plays idly with the tassels on his scarf for a few drawn out moments. “Do you want to come for a walk with me?”

Louis looks out the window with a raised brow. He can see the trees being thrown around in the wind and the leaves sweeping and swirling down the street. It doesn’t look too welcoming. But Harry’s dimples might overpower every rational thought in his head.

“I have another jacket in my car, might be a bit big on you but…” Harry says, looking a mix of hopeful and anxious.

Louis brightens at this. “Yeah, sure. I’m not heading home any time soon.”

Harry bites back a grin and gets to his feet, Louis follows him out the door, throwing his cup into the bin on the way. He’s hit by the cold wind again like a harsh slap in the face, and they walk towards Harrys car. Harry pulls out a jacket with woolen lining and hands it to Louis, which he is almost swimming in but it’s comfortable and so, so warm.

Harry then pulls out a bag of bread. Which. Um.

“Okay, I have to ask…” Louis says as they’ve been walking in silence for five minutes and Harry hasn’t said anything. “What’s the bread for?”

Harry grins, peering down at the bag in his hand, his hair blowing in his face which he tries and fails to keep under control. “Ducks,” he says plainly, nodding towards the lake ahead of them.

Louis looks in that direction. They’re walking through a park across the road from Starbucks, green trees blowing wildly in the wind, the blossoming flowers of spring scattering the lush grass, and a waterlily ridden pond a small ways in the distance with families of ducks floating on top. So, okay. Harry is the kind of boy who paints naked men _and_ feeds the ducks on weekends? Louis can get on board with that.

It’s still cold despite the sun creeping up in the sky, so he buries his hands in the pockets of Harrys jacket and Harry leads him across the grass to where the ducks are. They sit down, cross-legged and side by side and Louis watches Harry break up some bread and toss it onto the grass in front of him, smiling like the sun when the ducks begin to group around him.

“You do this a lot?” Louis asks coolly, leaning back on his hands.

Harry shrugs noncommittally. “Most weekends, s’ nice y’know? I spend so much time in my studio. Live by myself so theres no one to actually force me to go out,”

“Maybe we should swap for a week, I’m sure if you lived with Liam for a little while, you’d eventually hate going outside,” Louis smiles warmly, and Harry laughs.

“He means well, I’m sure.” Harry says smirking, looking out to the water.

Louis smiles again. “I’m really only saying that because I want your dog,”

Harry cackles. “Oh, he definitely _loved_ you at the gallery,”

Louis beams and Harry hands him some bread. He scatters it onto the grass for some of the smaller, slower ducks. They fall into a comfortable silence after that, though its not really silent because the wind is so loud. Harry eventually runs out of bread and he gets to his feet again.

Louis walks with him back towards the car park. He wonders if this is when Harry will bring up the painting thing, so he prepares himself for it. But Harry doesn’t.

Instead, they get back to their cars, and Louis is about to take off Harrys jacket but Harry puts a hand on his shoulder. “Keep it, gives us another excuse to see each other,” he says smoothly, and all Louis can do is nod in agreement, he’s glad though because his jacket is very, very warm.

 

*

 

He gets back to find Liam and Zayn in the kitchen both only in pairs of boxers and Zayn has his arms around Liam, his chin resting on Liam’s shoulder, while Liam puts an assortment of greens into the blender. Its cute, yes, but Louis is still pissed, despite the lovely outing he ended up having. He leans against the doorframe glaring in their general direction, waiting until they acknowledge his presence.

When Liam gets to blending his healthy concoction, Zayn finally lets him go and looks over to Louis. “Oh hey, wondered where you had taken off to,”

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Fuck you. Both of you.”

Liam pouts. “You don’t mean that, babe,” he says, turning around and eying Louis. “Hey, I’ve never seen you in that jacket,”

Louis’ cheeks heat up; he opens the pantry and looks through it aimlessly. “Oh, I um, I ran into Harry,” he mumbles casually.

There’s a pause and Louis exhales and turns around to see the amused faces of the boys watching him. “Did you now?” Zayn says, smirking.

Louis groans, deadpans a stare and doesn’t dignify them with a response, just grabs a bag of crisps and takes them to the couch.

“I wish you would eat something of sustenance this time of the morning, Tommo,” he hears Liam call after him.

He ignores him and switches on _Game of Thrones_ , checking his phone absentmindedly. He has two texts from Harry.

 **Unknown Number [8:20pm]**  
_Hiii. It’s Harry. Styles. Harry Styles. The artist. Just wondering when you’re free… let me know!_

 **Harry [9:35am]**  
_Nice seeing you today. I’m walking Milo the same time tomorrow morning if you’re interested in joining me._

 **Louis [9:56am]**  
_Hi Harry Styles the artist, I’ll bring your jacket!_

 **Harry [9:57]**  
_Was that a dad joke?_

 

*

 

Harry is sitting on the concrete outside Starbucks with Milo in his lap and two to-go cups on the ground next to him when Louis arrives the next morning, and he cant quite believe this boy exists in real life. He’s something else.

“You’re something else, Harry Styles,” he says when he reaches him.

Harry looks up oddly at first but then breaks into a warm smile. “Why do you say that?”

Louis shrugs. “Couldn’t tell you,”

Harry grins, looking back down at the pug in his lap. “Great. Now he’s fallen asleep.”

Louis laughs and sits down next to him, and Harry hands him one of the coffee cups. He tries not to turn his nose up at the smell of the caffeinated beverage and takes a sip, then he tugs the jacket closer to his body because its cold as usual. He reaches over rubs Milo’s back, not thinking about the fact that the only thing separating his hand and Harrys dick is a snoring dog. He definitely doesn’t think about that. Not at all.

Harry looks at him, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “How are Zayn and Liam?”

Louis shrugs, Liam was at work when he left this morning and Zayn had basically slept for twelve hours after a day of TV marathons. “Same ol’,” he says, absentmindedly running his fingers idly along the rip in the knee of Harrys jeans. Harry doesn’t seem to mind.

“Can wear that a bit longer if you want, suits you more anyway,” Harry says, thumbing the hem of the sleeve of his jacket Louis’ wearing, his hand grazing against the back of Louis’, and Louis’ chest feels too fast.

Louis smiles earnestly. “Might take you up on that, it’s fucking warm,” and Harry watches him fondly, “hey, how’s the paintings going at the gallery? Gotten any rave reviews?”

Harry nods. “Few blogs and campus magazines, still feels weird though, like, how people write about me,” Harry tilts his head back a little, starring ahead contemplatively.

“How do they write about you?” Louis asks.

Harry bites his bottom lip as he thinks. “Like, because of what I paint I’m suddenly some raunchy artist who only thinks about sex. Not that theres anything wrong with that. But like, that’s not why I paint that… it’s the idea of seeing people so natural and real. It’s beautiful. And yes, it is also incredibly hot.”

Louis smirks, feeling hot and cold all over and all at once.

_I like to paint beautiful people._

He feels an unmistakable warmth spread in the pit of his stomach and he knows now he’d easily let Harry paint him whenever he wanted. Easily. Without question. He doesn’t even need to think about it, he just wants to entertain the idea that he could be the only one on Harrys mind for those few moments.

Harry is looking at him, and God, he is gorgeous. Like, startlingly gorgeous, the kind that causes Louis to breathe unevenly, the kind that pushes away every other troubling thought, because nothing else matters. He wonders if Harry is struggling to breathe as well.

Harrys green eyes slide smoothly over Louis’ face, making a slow, almost deliberate scan from his eyes to his mouth, and then meeting his gaze again.

Suddenly the ground feels uneven.

A small noise escapes Milo who stirs in Harrys lap, and he blinks awake.

“Your timing is impeccable, my good friend,” Harry says in a very proper tone, diminished by the goofy grin on his face.

They stay on the ground for a few more minutes while Milo wakes up and gains some energy, and then they begin the walk through the park, past the ducks and the lilypads and Louis gets to hold the pink lead for a bit because Milo keeps running to his side anyway.

He talks to Harry about some of his bartending adventures with Niall, and Harry decides he’d really love to meet Niall, and Louis gets a little too excited at the idea of them hanging out. Harry tells him about the time he had a show in Paris, and Louis doesn’t even complain about feeling unaccomplished in comparison, which he thinks is quite an achievement.

Harry mentions a few indie bands he’s been listening to, he asks Louis if he’s heard of any of them and Louis promises he’ll give them a go.

Milo makes a friend, a bull terrier called Spud. Harry really loves Spud. Louis thinks Harry is getting cuter by the second. They have a lovely chat to Spuds owners, two girls, one with purple hair and one with long brunette curls. Louis watches Harry talk brightly about their morning so far with two people he just met and he thinks about how he is also kind of someone Harry just met, yet he’s talking about them like they’re old friends.

He also thinks a lot about Harry in his trench coats, but more importantly, how good he’d look without one on. Fuck the cold.

When he gets home he’s still smiling and buzzing from his day out with Harry, and Liam and Zayn are giving him a suggestive look, which Louis pretends he doesn’t see.

It’s over a bowl of microwaved mac and cheese that Zayn finally speaks. “So you two bang yet or…”

Louis glares. “Unlike the two of you, I have this thing called self-control,”

“Boring,” Liam says, grinning as he sips his tea.

“Really, Lou,” Zayn adds, “You’ve been going through this dry spell since Aiden, and don’t act like you haven’t because we were there through all of the complaining and crying on _this_ very couch–“

“Enough with the lecture,” Louis groans. “He hasn’t mentioned anything so I don’t want to be too forward, quit mothering me for once.” He looks at the boys. “Pretty please?”

Liam and Zayn both share a glance, as if considering whether or not to listen to him, and then they both simultaneously exhale a sigh.

“We only have your best interests at heart babe,” Liam says earnestly.

“My best interests? Getting me laid?” Louis says amusingly.

Zayn grins. “Look, mate. If you want to be miserable _that_ bad then we’ll stay out of it,”

Louis melodramatically flattens his hand against his heart. “Bless you, Zayn Malik.”

Zayn just scoffs and rolls his eyes. And Louis texts Harry, wondering if Milo misses Spud, Harry reckons he might and says another doggy date is definitely in the cards. Louis smiles at his phone and he doesn’t appreciate the snickering he pretends not to hear coming from the other boys.

 

*

 

“This one has some nice techno undertones, but they’re main thing is, like, acoustic and shit,” Harry explains as the song starts.

They’re sharing headphones, lying on their backs on the grass. They met up again outside Starbucks; Louis downed another bitter cup of coffee and somehow agreed to listen to some of the bands Harry had been talking about as they walked through the park.

“I like them,” Louis says, starring up at the sky. He kind of only hears static and the slight indication of a rhythm, but he just assumes that’s what indie music has progressed to. He doesn’t even remember the name of the band, something vague and ambiguous.

“Zayn said you used to be a writer,” Harry murmurs.

“You been talking to Zayn about me?” he smirks.

“Am I allowed to?” and he can practically hear the grin on his mouth.

Louis exhales. “I suppose. Though I wish you’d talk to Liam instead, Zayn talks a lot of shit,”

Harry chuckles. “Quit stalling,” and Louis grins. “He just said you did an English degree and you used to write a lot. What did you write?”

Louis shrugs. “Poetry I guess, got a few published in some magazines,”

Harry turns, looking impressed. “Louis, that’s amazing, why did you stop?”

Louis glances at him once, before returning his gaze to the sky. “Fell out of love with it, I guess,” _it_ or _him,_ Louis thinks, they’re one in the same really.

Harry nods and turns away. “I used to want to be a writer,” he mumbles.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Well, for one, I can’t write for shit, and also I kept drawing all over my paper, figured it was a sign,”

Louis chuckles and he feels Harry start to laugh next to him. “Really, though. You writing poetry would be just fitting for this whole hipster thing you have going on,”

Harry makes an offended noise. “I am _not_ a hipster,”

Louis quirks an eyebrow and looks at him. “Harry. We’re lying on the grass listening to some weird obscure band and you’re probably going to spend the afternoon painting about something in the clouds that inspired you today, in a ratty old sweater no less, tell me if I’m wrong?”

Harry bites his bottom lip, scrunching his nose up in an attempt to suppress a smirk and then after a deadpanned stare he just rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” Louis grins. “That must make you a hipster too though, because technically you _are_ lying here with me, and one day I’ll fish out those writing skills of yours to fully complete the _hipster_ _aesthetic,_ ”

“The artist and the poet, who would’ve guessed it?” he says, sarcasm heavy on his tongue and Harry snickers. “Just buy me some Warhol to hang up in my room and maybe we’ll talk.”

 

*

 

And so the coffee dates kind of just become a thing.

Really, a part of Louis’ daily schedule. Not that he has much of a schedule; his life is just work, binge watching and Harry, though not necessarily in that order. And its good, really, seeing Harry almost everyday first thing in the morning, all windswept and beautiful, holding out a cup of coffee with a sheepish grin and telling him a story about Milo knocking over a tin of paint but inadvertently creating a masterpiece, and Nick falling asleep on the floor of his studio and using a roll of canvas as a blanket.

Louis doesn’t know much about this Nick person, he hears a lot about him though. And it always causes an uneasy churn in his gut. He doesn’t like it.

They go for walks, sometimes just to the ducks, and sometimes with Milo, and they’ve run into Spud and the two girls–Perrie and Jade–a few more times which has been great, and they sit in Starbucks on days when its too cold to go out, knees touching because they’re always sitting too close and their hands grazing accidentally (or maybe not so much) when Harry is showing Louis something on his phone and Louis just _has_ to help him hold it steady by covering his hand with his own.

Harry talks a lot about his sister, Gemma, who’s over in America studying law, but she used to live in Cheshire where Harrys from. Louis’ noticed the way his eyes seem to light up when he talks about her, he thinks he’d really like to meet her.

Harry doesn’t ever mention his parents, which Louis does wonder about, because every time Louis mentions his he sees the other boy stiffen and his eyes go far away, and its not a good feeling to see Harry that way, so he doesn’t mention them again.

Louis has a new story everyday about work with Niall the night before to entertain Harry with, though he never finds them as enthralling as Harrys stories, but he thinks maybe that’s just because its Harry telling them.

Harry also tells Louis he’s been working on some new paintings that he’d like Louis to see them sometime, and Louis wonders who Harry could be painting. He wonders why he hasn’t asked him. It’s been a month and Louis can’t get it out of his head.

“How are you with mutilation?”

Louis looks at Harry quizzically. They’re walking back to the cars through the park, empty to-go cups in hand and a harsh wind blowing past them.

“… A man after my own heart.” Louis says uneasily, but fighting back a grin.

Harry laughs. “Sorry, bad way to start,” he pushes his hair back, “Nick has a new exhibition opening tomorrow night, if you wanted to come,”

Louis smiles. “You had me at mutilation,” and Harry snorts and almost pushes him into the pond.

 

*

 

Louis wonders if Nick is at all disturbed, or just really hates nice things. Happy things. The good things in life. Not baby doll heads in jars full of translucent red liquid or ominous sayings spelt out in colourful alphabet blocks.

He stares horrified at an oozing mound of fleshy growths on plinths for an extended amount of time, before someone appears at his side.

“It’s just foam and plaster, don’t freak out,” Harry says quietly, looking amused.

“I’m clearly not freaking out,” Louis says unconvincingly.

Harry puts an arm around Louis’ shoulder and Louis’ heart leaps out of his chest in an instant. Suddenly the whole exhibition is rainbows and puppies.

“Come with me?” Harry says, leaning in close to his ear. Louis shivers.

They walk past the dismembered mannequin and the shocking yet prolific defacing of family photos, towards a man with soft brunette hair and a pretentious looking scarf wrapped around his neck, holding a glass of wine and chatting with a couple of people in backwards caps and jumpsuits.

“Styles!” The man calls cheerfully and he moves towards them, setting his glass down on a bench.

“Nick, hey,” Harry drops his arm from Louis’ shoulder–Louis misses the touch immediately–and he pulls Nick into an easy hug.

Louis steps out of the way a bit, and he resolutely feels a bitter thrum in his chest that he refuses to acknowledge as jealousy. He doesn’t really have any right to be jealous. It’s just that this Nick person seems to get Harry all the time, and now Harrys arms are wrapped around him in a close embrace, his strong shoulders shifting against him, saying something to the other lad that Louis cant hear.

Louis looks away, pretending to be admiring the art but really focusing heavily on the sound of the street outside.

“I’d like you to meet Louis,” Harry says, and Louis turns back to him, tentative, and he gives his best smile anyway.

Nick’s eyebrows raise in sudden realization. “Oh! You’re the one that’s been stealing him away every morning,”

Louis grins. “Like I really have a choice,”

Nick dips his head back and laughs and Harry bites down on his bottom lip, trying not to smile but failing miserably. “That,” Harry points at him, “is so rude. Admit it, Lou, I make your day,”

Louis rolls his eyes expressively, though only to mask the fact that Harry could not be more right.

“Good that,” Nick says, “someone needs to take this boy out more, and it’s not going to be me,”

Louis grins and pats Harry’s shoulder. “I don’t mind so much,” he says, softer than he intended, and he feels Harry stiffen almost immediately.

Louis’ stomach drops, seizes and freezes up all at once. He drops his hand out of stupid, nervous habit and moves slightly out of the tormenting and alluring area of Harrys personal space. He’s never felt the need to do that before, they’ve always been fine with the odd touch here and there, always standing too close and just generally _being_ too close too soon, so he doesn’t know what made him feel the need to step away, but it wasn’t entirely pleasant.

Nick is still smiling though; clearly oblivious to Louis’ obvious distress, and sudden refusal to even look at Harry. “Well, I’ll leave you boys to it,” he says with a grin, and Louis risks a glance at Harry.

His expression is unreadable at best, but he smiles at Nick and then turns to Louis.

“Want to come to mine and watch a movie?” he asks, which isn’t entirely what Louis expected but nonetheless he agrees and they wave goodbye to Nick and some of Harrys friends and Harry drives them to his place.

It’s only a ten-minute drive, and Louis focuses on the steady rhythm of Harrys music during the journey because, other than that, all he has to focus on is the quiet happening between them and that is a step into an existential void that Louis could do without.

They pull up to an apartment complex–a very _nice_ apartment complex, and Louis is sporting a puzzled expression the entire time. He follows Harry into the elevator and Harry presses in his floor.

Okay, what the fuck. “Did you forget to mention that you’re rich or…”

Harry smirks and rolls his eyes. Louis feels better. “Shut up, I’m not rich, this is… I mean my parents wanted to make sure I had a nice place when they­–“ he looks at his feet. “–when they split. And like, my art sells for a good amount. I didn’t see any point in moving when it was up to me to pay rent,”

Louis nods, doesn’t mention that it’s the first time Harry has even uttered the word ‘ _parents’_ and he focuses on the rest. He sort of gets it, though he’s at the complete opposite end of the spectrum. The elevator dings and Harry opens the door to his apartment.

It’s like, really fucking beautiful. All brick walls, exposed ceilings, sleek modern furniture, a flat screen TV mounted on the wall, shiny appliances and art, art, art everywhere.

“Fucking hell, Harry.” Louis mumbles quietly, his eyes are caught by the artwork most of all, trying to decipher what of it is Harrys and what’s someone else’s. The pitter patter of paws on hardwood fills the room and Milo makes an appearance, jumping at Louis’ legs and only making it up to his knees.

Louis bends down to give him a pat while Harry rushes in and shifts a rolling table full of paint tubes. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,”

Louis almost wants to snort.

Harry fills Milo’s bowl up with dog food and Louis sees the canvases leaning against a wall. “These your latest?” he asks, and Harry nods.

He looks at them, properly looks at them, and they aren’t like what he almost didn’t see at his show. They aren’t naked men, they’re flowers.

Well, he hopes they’re flowers.

“Like them?” Harry asks, pushing his sleeves up and standing next to Louis. He feels himself turn hot all over, spots the ink on Harry’s skin, doodles and words and art tattooed all over his arms. He’ll need to remember to ask about them later.

He nods instead. “Flowers, right?”

Harry smiles softly and nods. “I like to paint flowers. It feels just as natural as the other stuff so,” he shrugs his shoulders.

Louis wonders if this is when he’ll mention it.

“I was thinking we could watch The Princess Bride? Its kind of my go-to movie,” Harry says suddenly, looking at Louis.

Louis blinks. “Fuck, are you kidding? Best movie ever,”

He doesn’t allow the disappointment to set in, and he curls up on the couch while Harry puts the movie on and covers them in a single duvet blanket, sitting close enough to Louis so that they could share, so that the sides of their bodies are touching. Close enough that Louis can feel it in every inch of him, that flicker of something Louis can’t quite identify coursing through his veins.

Somewhere along the way it’s just a given that Louis is staying, because it’s too late when the movie ends, and Louis insists he can walk home but Harry says he’ll catch his death in the cold.

“And I refuse to fall victim to your friends’ rage when they find you frozen over in a ditch somewhere, especially Liam, _good god–_ “

Louis cuts him off with his laughter, hitting him in the shoulder gently. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

Harry breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. And who knows? I might even make you breakfast… if you’re good,” he grins.

“Really?” Louis says with dramatic flair, eyes wide, “I must warn you that if you do that, I’m going to have to keep you,”

The air falls kind of weirdly silent after that, and then Harry smiles warmly and leans in and kisses Louis on the forehead.

“Good.” He says simply, sounding completely genuine and Louis feels his heart racing in his chest, he smiles in the way that Harry always makes him smile. Louis really wants to kiss him properly, but he doesn’t.

Harrys room is just as impressive as the rest of the apartment, though it’s barely a room because of the whole open plan thing he has going on, just a bed separated from the rest of the house by a massive bookcase. It’s a very nice bed though.

They don’t get changed or anything, just fall onto the bed and it’s really as comfortable as it looks. Harry shifts closer because “ _it’s a lot warmer that way”_ and he tucks himself into Louis’ arms, Milo squeezing in with them and Louis holds tight, knowing their relationship is weird and abnormal but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to care much about any of that, because just having Harry close is enough for Louis, it’s enough.

 

*

 

Louis wakes to a dog sleeping in the crook of his neck and the smell of pancakes sizzling. Which, he decides, is really the best thing anyone could ever wake up to and he could get used to it.

He wanders into the kitchen where Harry is standing in front of the stovetop with his hair up in a bun and a spatula in his hand, the thin white t-shirt hanging off his shoulders is practically sheer, Louis can see the smooth curve of his muscles underneath, and the outlines of even more tattoos decorating his skin, he feels hot all over.

There are ingredients everywhere, so Louis clears a space and hops up onto the island. “Morning, love,”

Harry almost jumps at the sudden intrusion. He looks startled, and Louis finds it unbearably cute. “You’re, like, quiet,” Harry says, smiling and turning back to the frying pan, “tiny feet, that’s it,”

“ _Hey_ ,” Louis sticks one of his tiny feet out and nudges Harry with it. Harry just laughs.

The pancake-making somehow results in a food fight, because Louis really wanted to taste the whipped cream, but Harry didn’t want him to lose his appetite, so instead Harry smeared a handful of whipped cream on the side of Louis’ face saying “ _there ya go, enjoy,”_ and well Louis just couldn’t let him get away with that.

Louis washes cream out of his hair in the bathroom, stomach full from too many pancakes, and Harry lets him borrow more of his clothes, he swears he’ll return them all someday. But the thing is that they’re all so soft, and they smell like Harry, and Louis isnt ready to give that up yet.

The sky is dark purple and stormy–very visible through Harrys floor to ceiling windows–so Harry insists Louis can’t leave in this weather, and he puts on another movie, which results in Louis falling asleep on the couch and waking up two hours before he’s due at work. He props himself up and see’s Harry painting in the corner of his eye.

“Hey,” he walks over to him, wiping the grogginess from his eyes. “I have work in a bit, so I better,” he gestures towards the door.

He looks at the big blue flower on the canvas. Harry looks at him.

“Come over later if you want,” Harry says, smiling fondly. And Louis knows he will.

Harry wants to hug him but he has paint over his hands and Louis is wearing one of his favourite shirts so Louis says he can save it for later.

He feels weird when he leaves.

 

*

 

“A simple text would have been nice,” Zayn says when Louis gets back, slipping off Harrys jacket and Harrys shirt to put on his black t-shirt for work.

Louis shrugs, not really paying attention, “m’ sorry,”

“Mhm,” Zayn drawls, unconvinced, “you’re, like, proper hung up on him aren’t you?”

Louis looks at him, attempting a glare but its all too true that he just shakes his head tiredly and sighs. “Don’t you have Liam to shag or summat?”

Zayn frowns and groans back onto Louis’ bed. “No, he’s at work. Thanks for reminding me,”

Louis rolls his eyes, lying down next to him and he pokes a finger into Zayns cheek. “You don’t get to complain, at least you have someone,”

“So this thing with you and Harry… what exactly is the problem there?” Zayn asks tentatively.

Louis sighs. “I honestly don’t know, he’s like… unbelievably lovely. We get along great. And then its like… I don’t know. He gives me all these weird signals but I’m starting to think maybe he’s not interested in that way,”

Zayn flattens a hand on Louis’ chest. “Why don’t you just talk to him?” he suggests innocently.

Louis turns to him, incredulous, quirking an eyebrow. “Can’t just _talk to him_ , Zayn, because Harrys a good mate and if things get weird then it’s goodbye to the nicest thing I’ve had in ages.”

Zayn almost looks pitying and Louis frowns further. “Harrys cool though, he’ll understand.”

Louis shakes his head. “Not the point.” He says and lifts himself up from the bed with an exaggerated sigh. “Work,”

“Give Niall my love,” Zayn says after a pause. “And cheer up, babe!” he calls after him.

 

*

 

“Have you ever dated someone who didn’t like your friends?”

Harry blinks at him. “I’m usually friends with my dates first, not usually friends with people who don’t like my other friends so,” he shakes his head, “you?”

Louis nods. “I’ve dated some real douchebags, Harold. Like, complete asshats. I think something’s wrong with me,”

Harry shifts over on the couch, eliminating the little space left between them and tugging Louis into his arms. Harry smells lovely.

They’ve been lounging on Harrys couch for an hour since Louis finished an uneventful shift of watching Niall stack plastic cups on a passed out guys head at the bar. Eleanor informed them that the bar is getting remodeled over the week so they basically have a weeks paid vacation. He told Harry this much over the phone and Harry said he should come over because Milo is missing him terribly (though it might not have just been Milo, and Harry was definitely smirking the entire time), but Louis didn’t complain because Harry has the first few seasons of _Burn Notice_ on DVD and he’s been meaning to catch up with it.

They’re just onto the second season. Its late, he’s falling asleep in Harry’s arms, and the sleepiness is making him say stupid things.

“Nothings wrong with you, you’re wonderful, Lou, you’re so wonderful.” Harry murmurs above Louis’ head where Louis is burying his head into Harry’s chest.

Louis just breathes him in, he’s probably been drinking too much wine, and he’s feeling groggy yet completely buzzing all the same.

“Want to sleep?” Harry asks, and Louis nods, Harry takes his hand and guides him to the bed where Milo is already snoring peacefully. They lay down next to each other and Harry holds him and Louis forces himself to close his eyes but despite how close they are, he can feel every inch of space between them, and its suffocating.

 

*

 

The next morning, Louis wakes up before Harry so he tries his best to make eggs on toast to show Harry he isnt completely useless but someone forgot to tell Louis that eggs aren’t supposed to fry completely black. Harry says the smell of smoke woke him up but Louis could have sworn it was Milo barking in his sleep.

Harry takes over instead, cooks perfect eggs and not-burnt toast and they eat on the couch while Louis throws a little ball around the apartment for Milo to chase. He has a shower to wash off the previous nights work and Harry lends him more clothes, a football shirt this time which Louis hasn’t ever seen Harry wear but he definitely would like to.

They spend a lot of time on the couch, because watching _Burn Notice_ is very important and it has nothing at all to do with the fact that Harry is very cuddly, and Louis loves cuddles. Harry gets up for a few minutes at a time to paint and reflect on his work, he’s painting more blue flowers. Louis thinks they look beautiful.

Louis says he’ll head home in time for one of Liam’s kale dinners but then Harry starts on some pasta and Louis insists that after dinner he’ll get out of Harrys hair but then Milo falls asleep on his lap and well, it would just be rude to wake him up, Louis thinks.

The next day they start on the third season, and he’s really going to leave when Harry says “ _stay for one more episode, Lou_ ,” and it ends on a cliffhanger so Louis couldn’t bring himself to leave without finding out what happens next. Harry bakes some late night brownies and Louis tries not to spill crumbs on his fancy couch, cradling a bottle of beer in his other hand, though Harry says he doesn’t mind.

Liam, Zayn and Niall pop over the next night for dinner after Louis and Harry had spent the day playing monopoly because Harry was “ _in a board game mood_ ” and watching _Pretty in Pink_ which involved Harry declaring his love for Andie’s entire wardrobe and resulted in the watching of several other 80’s movies until they were just on the brink of dancing along to _Dirty Dancing_ , the other boys arrival interrupting them just in time and Louis thinks that was probably a good thing because Harry has a lot of expensive things in his place which Louis really didn’t want to break due to his bad 80’s dance moves.

Liam, being the forty year old housewife that he is, brought a lasagna dish and a bottle of wine and they ate and drank around Harrys coffee table listening to his old indie records, Liam cuddles Milo, and Harry and Niall get on like they had known each other for years.

“Hey, do you want to get some of your clothes from home, since you’re here so often?” Liam asks Louis, flushed from wine but definitely genuine as he twists his fingers idly with Zayn who is lying with his head on his lap.

Louis quirks an eyebrow, he’s sitting on the ground in front of where Harry is sitting on the couch, resting his back in the space between Harrys legs and a glass of wine between his fingers. “Are you trying to kick me out, Payno? I still live there, I’m just taking a break from you two being a disgusting couple,”

Liam snickers, disregarding that last part. “No! I would never, I love living with you, its just been a few days so I figured,” he shrugs.

“Sick place by the way, Harry,” Niall says before Louis can respond to Liam, and Niall’s really made himself at home Louis notices, the Irish lad is sprawled out on the other side of the couch with a bottle of beer in his hand and two already empty ones at his feet.

Louis smiles fondly to himself as Harry enters into a conversation with Niall about the troubles of living alone, which ends in Niall saying,

“You don’t _really_ live alone though, do you?” in a lazy voice, sounding happy, drunk and tired.

Louis can practically feel Harry blush. “Not sure, to be honest,”

And Louis sinks against his legs, lets Harrys words hang in the air between them. He’s not sure either.

They end up talking nonsense till the early hours of the morning, drunk, giggly and sleepy, Niall pretending he knows the words to the obscure songs Harry plays but ends up being a mumbling mess and laughing at himself, Harry gives Louis a shoulder rub somewhere along the way and Zayn and Liam sneak in kisses. Harry also tells terrible knock knock jokes that Louis tries not to laugh at but Harry is just _such_ a beautiful idiot, he cant help but be endeared.

Niall falls asleep first at 3am, and Zayn soon after, using Liam’s lap as a pillow so Harry grabs Liam a mound of pillows as some form of a mattress and covers all of them, and the small black dog that’s nuzzled into Nialls neck, in blankets because Harry is a fucking teddy bear, one with long limbs and a smile that could bring Louis to his knees in seconds.

Louis is feeling surprisingly wide-awake, he’s followed Harry into the kitchen where Harry gives him a bottle of beer. And then he holds out his hand.

Louis twists their fingers together and Harry takes him out to the balcony coming off the kitchen, its that weird time of morning where its still dark but the sun is only an hour away from making an appearance. Stars still scatter the sky, and the street below is quiet. Its icy cold and sobering and Louis clings a little tighter to Harry.

The breeze is cold, but it feels nice and Louis closes his eyes, feels Harry pull him in. “s’ nice out here,” Harry murmurs. “You tired?”

Louis shakes his head. “Don’t want to sleep yet,”

Harry smooths a hand over Louis’ back, and Louis smiles softly at the warmth radiating off of Harry. He’s like a walking furnace. They stand there for God knows how long but rays of sun are beginning to spread across the sky when Louis finally feels like he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. They go to bed and sleep the day away, waking with a hangover, to find Liam up cooking some kind of rice dish for dinner.

The other boys leave once dinner is finished, and Louis washes up while Harry showers. He tries his best not to think about Harry showering. He lies back on the bed because Harry had mentioned not letting the all-nighter mess up their sleep schedules, he ends up scrolling through his phone, reading over the cringe-worthy Facebook posts and checking his text messages for the first time in... _days_. Shit.

He has a few from his Uni friends, Stan asking if he had fallen off the edge of the earth, or if he had run off with some fit bloke and gotten married in Vegas, and really, he _wishes._ A couple from his mum asking if he’ll visit for Lottie’s birthday, asking why he hasn’t called in days. Actually they all seem to be wondering where he’s been. He didn’t think that many people were particularly interested. He knows he’ll call them all, just not right now, not when he’s at Harry’s.

Harry collapses onto the bed with a heavy exhale and Milo jumps up as well, curling at their feet.

Harry’s wet hair brushes against Louis’ shoulder and he goes to gaze disapprovingly at the boy when–

Louis feels the air get sucked out of his lungs. Harry is only wearing a small pair of black boxer briefs. _Only_. And they really don’t leave much to imagination.

He can’t even help it–his eyes drift from Harrys face and proceed to roam over Harrys entire body in a slow, slow journey, following the curves of his lean abs, his thighs, scanning over his tattoos that are clearly visible now and Louis really wants to run his hands over every inch of him, he feels the warmth spread through his body, tingling as it does and Louis’ entire mouth goes dry. He almost has to pinch himself not to go hard because _fuck._

Harry is watching him, and he looks unfairly fond and Louis is confused again. But he doesn’t look away from Harry, he isn’t sure if he even could.

“What are these?” Louis asks before his head can catch up, letting his eyes drift over Harrys arms and his chest again, more specifically at the ink scattered over them.

Harry smiles softly. “Most people call them tattoos–“ Louis hits him with a pillow and he starts cackling. Louis tries (and fails) not to laugh as well at this absolute _child_. “ _Okay_ , sorry,” Harry says, still chuckling.

Louis rolls his eyes, turning on his side and propping his head up on his elbow. “Tell me about them,”

Harry glances down at his body, which, _fucking hell._ “A lot of them are just… cause I thought they looked nice and I’m friends with a few tattoo artists but um,” he points at the _G_ on his shoulder. “for my sister,”

Louis notices the _A_ on his other shoulder, but Harry doesn’t mention it so Louis doesn’t bring it up.

“And a lot of them mark important parts of my life or… or people, I guess.” Harrys gaze falls on the text running along his wrist and he runs soft fingers along it, Louis was never able to get a good look at it until now.

_I can’t change._

Harry doesn’t go any further than that, and Louis doesn’t mind.

“I want to do something tomorrow morning,” Harry suddenly says, drifting his eyes away, snapping Louis out of his daze, “should sleep,”

Louis puts his phone on the bedside table, its 8pm and Louis doesn’t think they’ve fallen asleep this early yet. He likes looking at the stars with Harry, is the thing, and he can’t help but worry that this is the best they’ll get. Because, when Harry touches him, Louis just knows its one of those ‘ _too good to be true’_ things, and he wills himself to be content with the fact that it wont last forever.

 

*

 

Harry wakes him up the next morning, and its early, its far too early. Harry has already pulled on a pair of those tight fucking jeans and Louis is both upset that he didn’t get to see more of him in his briefs, and thrilled because he really loves him in those jeans.

Turns out the thing that Harry wanted to do was walk to the park in the early morning fog and feed the ducks “ _for old times sake_.”

They sit on a bench near the pond while Milo chases a butterfly, and Louis buries his hands in the pockets of Harrys too big jacket and Harry tears up bits of bread and throws them out on the grass.

“I might head back to mine after today,” Louis says, feeling unbelievably hollow as he does. And he knows he doesn’t imagine the way Harrys face falls, or the sudden slump in his shoulders.

Harry disguises it well though, smiling sweetly but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Boys gotta work,”

Louis grins. “We don’t all possess your money making artistic abilities unfortunately,”

Harry shrugs, grinning in a ‘ _yeah, you’re right_ ’ kind of way and Louis shoves him gently.

“Harry! Louis!” someone shouts, and before Louis knows it, Spud is running towards them.

Perrie and Jade walk over closely behind with their arms linked, and Louis and Harry give Spud a good pat before he runs off to run in circles with Milo.

They’re all bundled up in coats as well which is fitting for the foggy weather. They smile when they get to them.

“Been a few days, how are you both?” Perrie asks.

Louis smiles amiably. “We’re good. Had some time off work so it’s been binge watching and this one baking up a storm,” he playfully ruffles Harrys hair while they laugh softly, and then absentmindedly smooth’s it down with his hand afterwards. He keeps his hand running through Harrys hair, its so, so soft.

“Burnt food wasn’t quite doing it for me,” Harry says, smirking widely and Louis gapes at him, but he can’t stop smiling.

“You dick,” Louis smirks, and has moved on to running his thumb along Harrys shoulder blade.

“You two are so cute,” Jade says, beaming at them. “How long have you been together?”

Louis freezes in an instant, and he feels Harry stiffen as well. Suddenly the air is tense.

He scrambles. “Oh, um. We’re–“

“We aren’t together.” Harry cuts in, there’s an odd, firm tone to his voice that Louis isn’t familiar with. The bluntness hits him where it hurts.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, his voice catching in his throat, “that,” he drops his hand from Harrys shoulder.

The girls look shocked at the very least. “Oh! Sorry, I just assumed–“

“That’s okay,” Harry says, a weird smile on his face. “It’s an easy mistake,”

Louis stupidly wishes for a meteor to strike the earth right now. Of course it doesn’t happen.

He smiles after being expressionless for too long, worried Harry might notice.

“We tend to get the opposite,” Perrie says, pulling Jade closer to her by the belt loop of her coat. “Like, _oh you girls are such good friends!_ ” she grins as Jade gives her a peck on the cheek. “Didn’t want to assume that about you guys, we know how annoying it can be,”

Harry smiles better this time. Louis still feels cold. “That’s really considerate actually,”

They chat for a small while longer about the weather and the girls’ trip they’re planning to Amsterdam in a month. The dogs eventually tire out and they say goodbye, and Louis and Harry walk towards Starbucks in silence. It shouldn’t be uncomfortable silence but it kind of is. It is for Louis anyway.

As they’re nearing the spot where they’ll eventually part ways, Louis scrambles to find something to say. “So, painting today?” he asks lamely. Mentally slapping himself for not thinking up something better.

Harry nods, his mouth forming a lopsided smile. Sheepish, almost. “Being outside gets me all inspired,”

Harry is looking ahead, Milo padding along side them, and the sun in rising, breaking through the fog and bursts of it casting light across Harry’s face, creating darker shadows in his more prominent features, and accentuating each of them. His red, red lips, his terribly green eyes, the curve of his neck beneath his jawline reaching down to his exposed collarbones.

Louis feels short of breath.

They stop at the end of the path. Louis feels all sweaty even though it’s below freezing.

“Tell the boys hi from me,” Harry says, his voice raspy and slow. He’s standing close, facing Louis and Louis almost has to crane his neck back to meet Harrys gaze, his green eyes are burning into him, his lips red from the cold and his pale skin a slight tint of pink.

Louis nods, throat going dry. “Yeah, course I will.”

Louis can see the slight stubble on Harry’s upper lip, a small cloud of heat escaping his lips as he breathes. He’s gazing at him, his eyes half-lidded and sliding slowly, deliberately, down to his mouth, Louis’ heart skips a beat and like the way he can feel the air change, _he swears_ Harry starts to lean in. And Louis freezes completely.

Harry looks like he sees it in Louis’ face, because he freezes too, and takes a very deliberate step back. Louis ignores the disappointment settling in his gut, hates his stupid overly expressive face and the fact that he _wants_ Harry, so bad, but it’s hard to convince himself that Harry could feel the same when he could do so much better.

Harry looks a strange mix of emotions, sheepish and _hurt_ almost, Louis can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Okay,” Harry breathes. “Okay, so,”

“So, I’ll see you,” Louis says airily. He crouches down and rubs Milos back and then he meets Harrys smile.

“See you,” Harry repeats, quieter, and much softer, lifting his hand to wave.

Louis smiles warily and waves back at him as he’s backing away, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, he lets the sound of the wind drown it out.

 

*

 

It’s 9:45 and Louis is leaning on the bar talking loudly to a pretty boy with dark hair and a nice smile, Greg, he’s been in a few times before. He’s not as pretty as Harry. But those are unfairly high standards and Louis is going to end up alone if he compares everyone he meets to that boy. They’re having a very heated discussion about _Star Wars_.

Greg shakes his head, grinning widely. “No, m’ afraid you’re wrong. They’re wildly overrated and mediocre at _best_ ,”

Louis’ eyes widen, feigning dramatics. “I might have to kick you out for that, love,”

Greg tilts his head back in a small laugh. “Okay, just the prequels then? C’mon Louis they’re shit–“

Louis purses his lips, and shakes his head again. “No, see, I might be part of the small minority that actually enjoyed them. Though, we did get Hayden Christensen’s abs so that may have clouded my judgment a little bit,” he smirks.

Greg laughs again, and gives Louis a look, like the sparkle in his eye kind of look. And Louis feels… guilty almost.

Greg shifts slightly in his chair. “Listen, Louis, I–“

“Tommo! Help me over here a minute,” Louis hears Niall call.

He gives Greg an apologetic look. “Sorry, can you hold that thought?”

Greg nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Louis heads over to Niall who is swamped with drink orders, their quiet night flooded with a group of rowdy men celebrating something loudly. He spends the next half hour making sure everyone is satisfied and then gets his cloth out to wipe some glasses while sauntering back over to Greg.

“You were saying?”

Greg thinks for a moment and then, “Right, um. I was actually just wondering if you wanted to hang out some time? I would invite you out for a drink but I figure since you work at a bar that’s probably not the most exciting thing for you,” he chuckles softly.

Louis feels his insides freeze. “Oh. Um,” he darts his eyes away. “I, uh–“

“Shit,” Greg groans solemnly, clearly embarrassed. “Shit, you’re aren’t single are you, I should have guessed–“

“No, I… I am single–“

“Louis?”

Louis turns his head at the voice to see Harry standing just off the side in the doorway next to where Greg is sitting. His face is weird, contorted almost, his brows knitted and lips upturned in a frown.

Louis feels a sick twist in his gut.

“Harry,” he breathes out. “Harry, what are you…”

Harry steps in and Louis turns all of his attention to him, ignoring Greg altogether and only feeling slightly awful for doing so. It’s just so _refreshing_ to see Harry again, even if everything got a bit weird. He is confused though, because Harry doesn’t look happy.

Harry’s eyes flick over to Greg for a moment before settling on Louis again, weird unsettling discomfort present in his perfect features and he takes a deep breath. “I just… I came to tell you I–“ he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be staying with Nick and few other friends for a few days, sorting out a new show so um… in case you were planning on dropping by,”

Any hope for good news Louis had deflates in his chest, he does want to ask whats wrong but he doesn’t think it’s the time or the place for it. He’ll call him later, definitely. “Okay. Well, don’t have too much fun without me,” he says lightly.

Harry barely smiles. “Yeah. Bye, Lou,” he says before hastily making an exit.

Louis stares at the doorway Harry disappeared through until someone needs him, because, right, he’s still working.

When Louis finally gets back to the flat for the first time in days, he lies awake, because his bed doesn’t even feel like his own anymore.

 

*

 

“Louis,” Zayn’s soft voice says from overhead. “Louis, babe, this isn’t going to help you know,”

Louis groans from where he is lying facedown on the carpet on the floor of his bedroom, his face buried into his arms.

“We all have our coping mechanisms, Zayn,” Louis mumbles offhandedly.

He knows he’s being pathetic. It’s only been one day without so much as a text from Harry, even though Louis has called twice this morning already and once last night as soon as he got off work, despite the uncomfortable carpet, he’s definitely not coping.

Zayn sits down next to him on the floor, and Louis rolls over onto his back. “Harry’s just busy, Lou. I’m sure he’s meaning to call you back, you guys have been attached at the hip,”

Louis narrows his eyes at the ceiling. “He hates me,” he says quietly.

Zayn sighs heavily. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s Harry, I don’t think it’s actually possible for him to hate anyone, let alone you,”

Louis frowns. “He does though, because we’ve been giving each other mixed signals and he’s probably thinking he gave me the wrong idea so now he’s got to avoid me.”

“He isn’t avoiding you.” Zayn consoles and Louis gives a half-assed snort in disbelief. “He _isn’t._ Just give it some time, babe. He’ll come around,”

Zayn eventually pulls Louis up off the floor and forces him to eat some of the leftover quiche Liam had made last night, and then he puts on _Friends_ reruns and Louis smiles for Zayns sake. He makes sure to smile when Liam gets home as well, and assure them that he’s definitely not thinking about Harry and or the confusing and unpleasant weight settling in his chest.

 

*

 

It’s day three without hearing from Harry, and Louis is drowning his sorrows in something strong that stings the back of his throat during after hours at the bar. He’s only on his second pint, and he wishes Niall didn’t look so fucking concerned. Its making this whole ‘hopeless pining’ thing a lot more difficult.

“Alright, talk to me please? Tell me what’s wrong, babe,” Niall finally says when Louis is drunk enough to actually say anything, but not too drunk that Nialls possible advice won’t stick.

Louis doesn’t even know where to start. He tried calling Harry again but it went straight to voicemail, and he had gotten the same result the ten other times he had called. Any replies to his texts were that he was just busy, but Louis has never felt more fucking rejected. He tells Niall as much.

“–and so I have no fucking idea what I did, or what he wants, but suddenly he doesn’t want to even talk to me?” he swallows back the lump in his throat.

“Shit… maybe he’s into you and he doesn’t think you feel the same?” Niall offers, wiping the same spot on the bar with his cloth absentmindedly.

Louis frowns helplessly. “Well that’s what I thought, like from the start… So yeah, I thought we’d at least have fucked by now. Even just as a casual thing, but we didn’t and… and then I fucking fell in love didn’t I?” Louis bangs his head against the bar.

“Hey, none of that!” Niall says, propping Louis’ head up gently. “So you love him?”

Louis groans in response. “I do.” He sighs miserably. “I love his stupid hair and his weird music taste and his dumb jokes, I’m so mad at myself,” he takes another big sip of his pint.

“Why are you mad at yourself? Its not a bad thing to fall in love,”

“But it is, ‘cause after the last time I had sort of vowed not to let it happen again,” Louis mumbles weakly.

Niall takes Louis’ half-finished pint out of his hand and sets it down. “Look, babe, I had coffee with him yesterday–“

“You had coffee with Harry?” Louis says incredulously. “ _My_ Harry?”

Niall smiles softly. “Your Harry, yes. He wanted to chat about you, and I think you should really talk to him,”

“Well, what did you guys say?”

Niall shakes his head. “Couldn’t tell you that, confidential Dr. Horan sessions,”

Louis rolls his eyes and groans. “Seriously?”

Niall nods. “Now, I’m going to take you home. You’re going to get a good nights sleep and then tomorrow when Harry gets back you’re going to talk about this, okay?”

Louis doesn’t even know if he responds to that, in a slur of words Niall hauls him out of the bar and takes him back to the flat. Louis sleeps in a cold bed, flashbacks playing in his head. He’s really not ready to give any of it up.

 

*

 

He decides his best bet is to be there when Harry gets home, he waits in the hallway outside the door to his apartment for hours, the tight ball of anxiety only growing as the hours tick by.

He’s tried pacing, tried talking on the phone to Niall, and then Zayn, and then Liam. He even called Lottie in the hopes that hearing about her day would put a smile on his face, and it did to some extent, but then that call ended and Louis fell right back into the nervous panic.

He’s sitting on the floor leaning against the wall when the elevator dings.

He looks up when Harry steps out, and uses the wall for balance as he stands up. “Hi,” he says softly, a tentative smile resting on his lips.

Seeing Harry is so instantly soothing, it’s just so fucking _good_ to see him again. Louis had almost forgotten just how beautiful he is, and now he’s seeing him again and it’s like everything all at once, just the sight of this boy is enough to make Louis’ heart race in his chest, and his breathing to get uneven.

Harry takes a step forward from where he was momentarily standing frozen, a bag slung over his shoulder. “Louis… hi, how have you been?” he asks, still looking surprised to see him but something more real burning behind his eyes. God, Louis missed him.

Harry opens the door and Louis follows him in, doesn’t answer his question, doesn’t exactly know what he would say.

Harry puts his bag down and Louis assumes Milo is staying with someone else; he does a quick scan of the place that feels more familiar than his own flat. It feels like home.  

“Get a lot done?” he finds himself asking as Harry is hanging up some clothes. Its not what he wanted to say, but whatever.

Harry smiles softly, still not really looking at him. “Yeah. Just planning layouts and shit, probably wouldn’t interest you,” he says offhandedly and Louis feels his chest sink.

Harry’s right, maybe it wouldn’t interest Louis. It still hurts though.

Louis is determined to make everything normal again, so that they can talk without this weird tension. He’s suffocating in it. He steps over to where Harry is fussing over his wardrobe and he leans on the side of it. “I probably still have half of your clothes now that I think about it,” he says with a soft chuckle.

Harry just smiles. And for once, Louis can’t stand it.

Everything feels too uncertain, and he feels on edge just _watching_ Harry, just existing in Harry’s life but not really even sure if he’s made any impact at all. The silence stretches out between them and Louis hates it, because there are so many things he wants to tell him.

“I missed you,” he finally says.

Harry drops his shoulders and stops what he’s doing, looks at Louis, his face softening and seeming more recognizable to Louis. “Me too,” he says, and it’s painfully warm, “missed you a lot.”

Louis feels everything rushing through his veins, he steps forward, because he can’t stand the space between them. He tilts his head slightly and runs his hand over Harrys forearm, tentative, the soft skin tingling beneath his fingertips.

“We should talk,” he finally says, his hand sliding down to wrap around Harrys. “Harry, please,”

Harry exhales a breath. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, okay,”

“You’re upset with me,” Louis says first, brokenly.

Harry frowns at him, and shakes his head in small movement. “No– No Lou, I’m sorry I haven’t been taking your calls, I just– I just didn’t know what to say,”

Louis’ forehead creased. “Harry, I don’t know what you mean,” Louis says desperately, his hand tightening around Harrys.

Harry bites the corner of his bottom lip. “I don’t want you to go away,” he says, quiet, but his tone is still firm and he turns on Louis, lacing their other hand together and his heavy eyes scan over Louis’ face. Louis steps in closer, eliminating more space between them. Harry sucks in a deep breath. “I guess I felt… embarrassed? Like. I think I’ve really made a mess of things,”

Louis shakes his head hastily, because he needs Harry to _know._ He has to know that it’s okay, that whatever he wants is okay. But he opens his mouth to speak, and closes it again when nothing comes out.

“No one has ever looked at me like you do,” Harry continues, he gazes up, his eyes glazed over, “or bothered to stay as long, I suppose,” he lets out a weak chuckle and Louis’ gaze follows his face as he tilts it down, and Louis wants to kiss him. Wants to ease the tremor in his hands but his heart is lodged in his throat and he worries most of all about saying the wrong thing.

Then Harry drops his hands with a strained laugh, breathy and sad and he steps past Louis. Louis feels cold all over.

“Harry, wait,” he quickly goes after him and grabs his hand and Harry spins around, frowning again. Louis’ heart is racing and his head is buzzing and Harry… Harry is so beautiful. Louis exhales. “I don’t like coffee.”

Harry’s frown deepens, he pauses for a moment. “What?”

He catches up with his breathing, moving in closer again. “I don’t like coffee,” he says again, and Harry continues to look confused, “I had coffee everyday for a whole month because you got one for me, because I wanted to see you–“ he remembers to breathe, “You make me feel warm, and like, happy. So, so fucking happy. And it feels weird to sleep without you. And I hate the sound of you leaving, even when you’re just heading to Tesco’s. And I… I kind of think I love you? Which–I completely understand if that’s not what you want but I–“

Harry surges forward and presses their lips together before Louis can even think and it sucks all the air out of his lungs _,_ he feels jolts of lightning ringing in his ears and Harrys hand cups the side of his face while the other slides over his hip, firm and holding him like he’s always known how to, opening Louis’ mouth with his own and sucking in another insistent, desperate kiss and Louis’ mind goes blank–Harry is so, so warm, and his lips are soft, _unfairly_ soft. His tongue slides over Louis’ and Louis needs to take him in for a moment, to appreciate all that Harry is, but all he wants is to be closer.

Louis’ head catches up and he puts his hands on the back of Harrys head, sliding his fingers through his hair in an attempt to be closer. Their chests are flush and he’s stepping back, gripping the bottom of Harrys shirt and pulling him against him until he’s pressed up against the wall.

Harry breaks away in heavy pants and trails kisses over Louis’ jawline, works his mouth along his throat and a muffled groan escapes Louis’ lips and he pulls Harry closer, the boy kisses languid and hot on his neck before he works his way back up to Louis’ mouth. Harrys’ smiling against him and Louis starts giggling into his mouth, placing too many soft kisses to his lips, he feels Harry trembling against him and when Louis pulls away, they’re both smiling like idiots.

“I can’t believe you let me buy you so much coffee,” Harry breathes out, laughing, resting his forehead against Louis’, lose strands of hair hanging over his eyes, “and you drank them all too, should I take that as a compliment?”

Louis smirks against his mouth, his eyes flickering closed again. “yes, you definitely should,” he kisses him again, “the highest compliment,”

They’re kissing again, and Louis’ fingers play with the buttons of Harrys shirt, like everything else in the world has disappeared. Like its only them. And he really, desperately needs Harry out of that shirt, but he stops himself.

“Are you,” he breathes, “are you sure this is okay? We don’t have to–“

“This is more than okay this is like– this is _everything._ You. You are everything and– and I– _­fuck,_ I want to. If– if you want to,” Harry says, his voice gruff, uneven and so fucking wonderful. Louis’ heart bursts and he nods and Harry loosens against him, breathes him in. “I’m sick of waiting,” he practically whispers, grinning wickedly and something warm unfurls in Louis’ chest as he rolls his hips against Harrys, trapped under too many layers of clothes. He takes Harrys face in his hands again and he pulls him in.

 

*

 

Harry’s sheets are soft, Louis knows this, he’s spent nights here lying awake thinking about doing this exact thing in them, and they feel like fucking silk or satin beneath him now.

He’s lying on his stomach with his head resting on his arm and turned towards Harry at his side, his left leg tangling with Harrys. His skin is sticky, his breathing still slowing, shuddery, and he’s filled with absolute bliss. There’s a thin sheet pulled over the bottom half of his naked body, and his fingers are tracing over Harrys abs softly and delicately, exploring all of the places he’s been wanting to touch for weeks.

“Harry,” he says quietly, and Harry looks at him warmly.

“Hm?”

“Why did you never want to paint me?”

Harry’s brows draw together and he pushes himself up, cocking his head. “What do you mean?”

Louis props himself up on his elbows, his fingers absentmindedly tracing over the fern tattoos on Harry’s hips. “When we met you said you wanted a model, and you never… you never really brought it up again. I don’t mind, really, I just always wondered why,”

Harry seems to be thinking for a few seconds and then realization washes over his features. “I did… I did want you to be my model but at the show it was more of me asking you out because they’re like _way_ over the top sexual, so like, I wouldn’t have expected you to just strip off on the first date. I wanted to get to know you first and then… then I realized how incredible you are and neither of us had said anything and I didn’t want to push it–or you _._ Didn’t want to rush things and freak you out,”

Louis looks at him contemplatively, and a fond smile stretches across his face.

“I have been painting you, though. In a sense,” Harry continues.

Louis sits up. “You have?”

Harry nods, grinning softly and he nods towards his painting area. The two of them slide out of bed, Louis suddenly very aware that theyre both still naked, and he twists his fingers with Harrys as they head towards the stack of canvases.

Harry turns them all around and Louis’ breath hitches, each one of them painterly flowers in different shades of blue, the ones he had seen Harry working on before. Completely monochromatic but casting so many layers and strokes, the marks gestural yet deliberate, and really fucking beautiful.

Louis looks at Harry, and Harry is looking at his work, his eyes shimmering with the dim light of the full moon pouring through the windows. “Cheesy as it is, I saw your eyes first. At the show,” Harry says, still gazing ahead. “You were talking to Zayn, and I thought _holy shit_ he has some beautiful blue eyes, I have to talk to him. And then you fucking disappeared,”

Louis snickers, clinging to Harrys arm.

“And I found you downstairs, thanks to Milo,” he beams brightly, “and up close, your eyes were, like, _unbelievable,_ I had to know you, had to paint you. Because I didn’t want to rush things with us, I couldn’t… paint you how I usually would, so your eyes were the next best thing.” Harry says, turning to look at him with his thoughtful eyes.

Louis smiles and places a kiss to his shoulder blade, nuzzling his head into the curve of his neck.

“You can you know?” he says into Harrys soft skin.

“What?”

“Paint me. How you usually would. You can,” Louis says, and Harry stares down at him, studying his face and he brushes back some of Louis’ fringe with soft, gentle fingers.

“It can wait.”

 

*

 

“Louis, tell me the truth, is this exhibition going to cause me to never be able to look you in the eye again?” Niall asks, getting out of the car and walking alongside Louis to the gallery.

Louis smirks. “My face isnt in any of them so just pretend its… Orlando Bloom? You like him, yeah?”

Niall nods. “Legolas era mainly,” he purses his lips, “I’ll try my best, careful though, I might fall in love with you,” he grins and nudges Louis playfully.

It’s been a busy couple of months for Harry, and Louis’ been doing his best to be helpful but he finds he even struggles with wrapping canvases for transport. He’s resorted to buying take-out and making coffee for Harry while he gets his works finished and ready for the show. And really, he is Harrys _muse_ after all so like, that’s helping enough, right?

It didn’t take long for him to move in with Harry, mainly because it was too weird being in his own bed in the few nights he actually did go back to the flat, and Harry would talk to him on the phone all night, only to meet him at Starbucks early in the morning anyway. And also because as the days went on, his stuff slowly started accumulating at Harrys until the flat was more of a storage space. He thinks Zayn and Liam were relieved because now they don’t have to worry about quieting down. Not that they ever fucking used to.

Their days are spent similarly, Harry paints while Louis scribbles in his notebook because he had a weird desire to get back into writing again, and the lazy days are spent with TV marathons, make out sessions that inevitably turn into heated sex on the couch because the bed is just _too_ far away. It’s completely necessary though for Harrys painting inspiration.

Harry opens up little by little about his mum, cautious and careful and Louis swears he’ll wait as long as Harry needs.

Louis knows she’d be proud of him now.

They open the door to the gallery, it’s full of people admiring the work–admiring _Harrys_ work. Louis feels overwhelmingly proud. The brilliant canvases cover the walls, gestural depictions of Louis, and blue, blue, blue.

He spots Harry straight away, drawn to him like some strange magnetic pull. He’s standing with Zayn and Liam in the sheer black button up that Louis loves, and he’s so painfully gorgeous, it never fails to completely astound him.

They head over to the three boys and Louis links his fingers with Harrys. “Hi,”

Harry lights up when he turns to him, leaning in for a kiss. “Hi beautiful,”

Milo scurries across the floor and jumps at his feet, and Louis gives him a rub before he runs off at the sound of someone’s high heels on the floor. Harry wraps his arm around Louis’ waist and they make their way around, chatting to an alternative group of people and he watches Harry talk so passionately. And fuck, he is so in love.

When the gallery has emptied, and Liam, Zayn and Niall are saying their goodbyes to Harry by the door, Louis takes his own little wander around in the quiet of the gallery, getting a proper look at the paintings he’s seen be works in progress over the past few weeks.

Louis can finally see it now, every inch of beauty, hard work and affection that Harry puts into his work, and its so overwhelming, like feeling what he feels when he paints, when he’s watching Louis across the room washing up or making tea, when he holds him in his arms, when he kisses him. Everything that was just out of reach is suddenly in his grasp, and it takes his breath away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Kudos & comments are greatly appreciated :)


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